Saving Private Nate
by ymasp
Summary: Sweet are the memories that never fade, of the one we loved, but could not save. (REMAKE OF THE YOUNGEST SHEPARD - SHEPARD FAMILY LITTLE BROTHER FIC)
1. Chapter 1

Since I was the last one to see Frankie before he disappeared, I knew the police would have to question me. I don't mix well with interrogations, they raise my anxiety levels to the roof.

The officer sat opposite me was relentlessly staring at me. He appears to be really tall from afar, but when you get closer, you can see that he is an average five-foot-something; he just appears taller because he has got that menacing look about him, the kind of look that makes you feel insignificant with just a twitch of his eyebrow. His narrow temples are dusted with a light grey, but the rest of his head displays a full, bushy, jet black mane. His face is rigid and rough with experience-life experience, crime experience, military experience. He has that kind of face that suggests to you that he might be a dirty cop, a criminal on the inside.

He smacked his lips together and took another look at his notes.

"So, Nathan-" He began.

"Nate." I corrected, I severely dislike my name. It sounds girly to me and Nate is the only possible way for me to be able to not physically cringe when someone says my name. Most cops know to address me as Nate by now, but I guess the abominable gummy bear over here doesn't.

The cop slowly and menacingly lifted his head up and clenched his jaw. He stopped the recording and dangerously but calmly placed his hand on the desk. The man flashed a sarcastic and slightly angry smile. I raised my eyebrows in anticipation for his reaction. Whilst I feel like I'm on the verge of a full force anxiety attack, I keep my cool about me. An interrogation ain't an interrogation without a little bit of sarcasm and mock humor, right?

"_Nathan_. I am not here to play your silly little games." – "I know you, and I know your family. So if you want to walk out of here a free guy, you keep your fucking mouth shut and speak when spoken to. Okay?" He spat, but somehow kept a sarcastic smile on his face as he started to chew on the end of his blue biro pen, after keeping eye contact with me for a few seconds he turned the recording on for a second time. I figured I should just go along with it, I didn't need to be charged with suspected kidnapping and probably murder at the age of fourteen. You get the chair if you're found guilty for first degree murder, kid or not.

The officer looked down at me and sat up straight in his chair.

"My name is G.S Davis, I work at Tulsa General Police Station. My role today is to interview you in relation to the offence you've been arrested for. I will be making notes during the interview purely for my reference." He started. I was already sick of his voice.

"Can you give your full name and date of birth please. And can you confirm for the purpose of the tape that there are no other persons present in the interview room." It wasn't really a question, more of a demand.

"Nathan Lewis Shepard, February 23rd 1951. And uh, yeah there's no one else in here…" I answered sarcastically, this was just annoying now.

"I now need to caution you, and it is important that you understand what the caution means, so you do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?" He seemed tired, I think he needs a new job. I nodded.

"Nathan. Where were you on the night of Francis Monatello's disappearance?" He asked, putting extra emphasis on my name this time. The fucking bastard. If I know one thing, it's that I had nothing to do with Frankie going missing. I mean, yeah him and I weren't exactly the best of friends but I didn't have it out for the kid that bad. He isn't even thirteen yet for pete's sake.

I hesitated for a moment to think. "I was at a friends house." I replied simply, which wasn't a lie. So what if we were smoking pot, it's just unnecessary information. I put my left ankle on my right knee and slouched even further into the uncomfortable chair. You know the chairs that they have in the cafeteria at school, the metal ones. But I guess that depends what school you go to.

"Who was this said friend?" His badge read 'Private G.S. Davies'. I bet that made him feel real important, trying to scare innocent kids into confessing to a crime that they didn't commit just because the police force is full of fucking idiots who can't even solve who had the last doughnut at lunch last week.

"Brent Austin." I said coolly, he sure as hell didn't scare me. He could tilt his head and flex his 'muscles' at me all he wanted. I have two older brothers that would kick his ass into next week if I just said the word.

"Understood…" He drawled. "Had you spoken to Francis on the night he went missing? – If not, when was the last time?" The man solicited again. I was pretty tired, I didn't have time for this shit. He knows full well I had fuck all to do with Frankie going missing. They just need someone to place the blame on, and judging from not only mine but my families reputation, It would be quite believable. Frankie and I got into a scrap a couple of months ago but it was nothing major. I was stoned and he was being all pissy about something, I back handed him around the head a couple of times and told him to take himself home before he gets himself hurt.

Frank was a pretty cool twelve year old. He was pretty short for his age and he had platinum blonde hair accompanied by bright blue eyes. The kid was the type that people actually stopped in the street to admire how innocent looking he was. The main thing I can pinpoint about him is that he was always wearing a white, blue and red checked flannel shirt with a plain white t-shirt under it. I don't know where the kid is, I like to think he found a way out of this gang life but deep down I know something bad happened to him. That poor little guy, man.

"No, I didn't speak to him on the night he went missing." – "We spoke once or twice and we'd always smile when we passed each other in the street. We were buddies, Frankie and me. But far from friends." I shrugged and rolled my eyes when I got scowled at. It didn't look like I was going to get charged for this which was good. No doubt would Brent be in for an interrogation session with Mr Stumpy, good luck to him with that. Brent is the cockiest son of a bitch I have ever met, you'd have a better chance of not losing the will to live if you were to talk to a brick wall or something. He's a tough cookie, he's a couple of months older than me so he's going to be turning fifteen in about three months. He has wavy dark brown-almost black hair which he spikes up into a quiff with hair grease and tough green eyes. He acts the fearless outgoing tough guy but deep down he's the same scared little boy that watched his big brother jump off the bridge that connects Tulsa to the city.

Brent had an older brother called Peter-Jae who threw himself off a bridge when he was sixteen because he was going to be sentenced to the electric chair for first degree murder of a Soc called James Willmannor. Everyone knew it was manslaughter but James' family hired the best lawyer in district to prove him guilty of murder and that they did. Brent was seven at the time so it was almost 8 years ago now.

"I know you think you're being smart but you need to understand that you are a suspect, Nathan." He shuffled his papers and leaned slightly closer to me. I had to fight the urge to laugh.

"I already told you! I didn't do anything!" I was getting pissed off now, I wish they'd just give up and frame someone else. I mean c'mon, why would I want to do Frankie over?

"Bullshit, we know you had something to do with this." He snickered and took a sip of his cold coffee. The sight of him was making me feel fucking sick.

"Well then you don't know shit." – "I'm telling you now pal, I didn't do fucking anything, alright?"

"That sure as hell isn't what it looks like, so you can either start talking or we can pin the charges on you. And god forbid, but if Frankie is found dead you will be held responsible." He narrowed his eyes at me and I sat up in my chair, crossed my arms and remained silent. I refused to answer any further questions. This jackass knew I didn't do it.

"I'm now handing you the notice that explains what happens to the tapes. The time is now 2230 hours and the interview is concluded and I'm now switching off the tapes." He signaled for the other officer to come into the room and he downed the rest of his his coffee before angrily slamming and smashing the cup onto the table.

"Find a cell for this piece of shit until the morning." He stood up and scowled at me, I smiled widely and waved.

As I was being handcuffed he continued to stare at me. "I think you have anger issues." I laughed at him, I turned to the officer cuffing me "Do you think he has anger issues? I do." I could have sworn I saw the cops lips twitch up into a slight smirk whilst the other one looked at me completely deadpan.

xxx

I got out in the morning, free of charge as predicted. I walked up the five flights of stairs to Curly's, mine and Tim's apartment. We moved out of our house when Angela moved in with Aunt Maya down south and mum and Shawn went on a 'holiday' which they haven't returned from after two years. The apartment block does have a lift but it is so full of dirty old newspapers, dead birds and poorly drawn graffiti, I'm not even sure I want to spend the mere two minutes in it.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Is what I was greeted with when I walked through the front door, Curly is such a mother hen.

"Chill, dude. I got hauled in because of that Frankie kid goin' missing, I got a bit pissy with the cop and got kept for the night. No biggie." I shrugged, Tim was sat with his legs resting on the coffee table and was looking at me whilst smirking and shaking his head.

"Sometimes I think you're too much like me, kid." He got up and ruffled my hair and lightly punched me on the shoulder in a brotherly type way. Things have been looking up recently since we got out of that depressing house, I think all of us were near breaking point staying there.

"So what'd they try framing you for this time, short stuff?" Curly asked, sitting backwards on one of the wooden kitchen chairs, smoking a cigarette, keeping his emotionless deadpan face on him the entire time. Only grinning when I rolled my eyes at the nickname.

"They thought I fuckin' killed the poor kid, just shows what a reputation can get you into." I smiled, aiming that at Tim who playfully kicked me.

"The fuzz must be gettin' pretty desperate if they're framing fourteen year olds for things as bad as murder now. We best keep our heads down, Curly." – "And by that, I mean don't go shoutin' your mouth off to every Tom Dick and Harry about how much shit you've been causing lately." Tim growled at Curly, I snickered but got a scolding look of my older brothers.

"Aw c'mon Tim, stop treatin' me like a little kid. I ain't fuckin' stupid." He was getting bitchy now, this really never ended well.

"Oh yeah, that's why you climbed a fuckin' telephone pole and broke your arm is it?" Tim looked at me and winked.

"That was six months ago!" Curly whined but laughed. Curly looks a lot like our dad, he has dark hair with dark eyes and freckles. He's also reasonably tall, an inch or two smaller than Tim though. He's gonna be turning sixteen on October the seventh, that's still about four months away though.

"Nate, you know that kid Mikey something , right?" Tim asked. Oh I knew Michael Wade better than he knew himself. And the realisation of that is that he is probably the biggest prick going. I've had endless amounts of fights with him even though he's older than Curly. He's one of the little brothers of the Brumly boys, one of the three greaser gangs in Tulsa. He's only about 5'6 but he's still taller than me, I'm only about 5'3 hence the nickname short stuff. Mikey has light blue eyes and dirty blonde hair that falters across his forehead. He's an asshole.

"He's lookin' for you, apparently." Tim smirked at me, I admire the confidence he has in me when I have none in myself.

"Fuckin' great." I sighed and flopped down onto the sofa. I needed to go to sleep. Police cells aren't really that good for getting a good nights kip.

My life sure is a roller-coaster.

* * *

**I'm in two minds if I should continue this story into a full fic or not, I need opinions guys. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

My foot dangled gently over the edge, the open air caressing it. The soft wind pushed my clothes against me, rustling through my hair as my I stood on one leg, precariously balancing on the gothic piling of the heavy wrought bridge. I was going to do it. One more step and I would be hurtling to the water, the affable, clear water. And then a bird flew by. A large bird with heavy wings and a defined beak, and... and... I had seen that bird before. Memories hit me like a freight train and I fell back to the sidewalk on the inside of the bridge. I pulled my knees to my chest and rocked silently back and forth as quiet tears streamed down my face and I remembered. I remembered.

I could feel the air being sucked out from my body, the atmosphere becoming more and more tight. I struggled out from under the blanket covers, racing to the window. I pounded against the freezing cold glass until my fingers scraped on the window latches. With one swift movement I flicked them to the side and opened the window with all the strength left in my body. I immediately took in a huge breath of cold air. That was some dream alright.

Curly and I shared a bedroom, he was in the bed at the other side of the room. I tried to be quiet because if you know Curly Shepard, you know how much he needs his sleep. I leaned my forearms against the window ledge and sighed. The sky was so dark, it was as if someone had thrown a moth-eaten blanket over the earth, the stars were the little holes that had been eaten away by the insects. I wondered where on earth that kid, Frankie was. I hoped he was alright but deep down even I doubted it. Hope is a strange thing, almost like a currency for people who know they're losing. I'm trying so hard not to lose hope in things but sometimes for some people, things don't work out as they may have hoped.

The average winter here in Tulsa was the type of winter that everyone contradicted with a love hate relationship. It was the type to force you to breathe into your hands, making them clammy and cold, only to repeat the process a few minutes passing because cold had taken over again. You love the way it looked with the snow on the ground and the smell of Jack Frosts delicate touch and it makes you want to lock the senses in a jar. Then again, as your face numbs, your hands cringe and a shudder of chills is sent down your spine, all you long for are warm covers or the sensation of a long gone summer sun.

Curly sat up in bed and looked at me with his eyes squinted, I turned away from the window and made eye contact with him. He narrowed his eyes at me and flopped back down into bed.

"What the fuck are you doin' staring out the window at four in the morning?" He asked, clearly agitated. I rolled my eyes and looked back out to the window.

"Bad dream." I replied, not looking back to him. I could feel him staring at me, it was rather unsettling if I'm honest. He moved into another position and I turned to look at him. The moonlight was lighting up the room just enough so him and I could see each other.

"What about, kiddo?" How would I even begin to explain that I just had a nightmare about me trying to fucking kill myself? How the Hell do you even explain that?

"I don't remember much." I lied, I remember it all. The standing on the edge gave me some sort of fucked up adrenaline rush, not that I would ever y'know; top myself. I'm not that selfish, you see. If I had no one left then that would be a different story entirely.

"Bullshit. What was it about?" He pressed further, he really was the mother hen of the family. He always worried about everything even though he was seen as a tough Greaser to the rest of society. I think he cares about me more than anyone else in this entire world, yeah that's a nice thing.

I figured I should probably tell him, it's not like I was gonna do it or anything like that. I closed the window and walked over to my bed which was along side his with only a foot length space separating the two beds, I sat down and sighed. "I dreamt that I was gonna jump off a bridge. You know, kill myself…" I shrugged and lit a cigarette. The clock read just past four in the morning, I was so tired. Curly held his hand out for a cigarette and I handed him one, his lips curved upwards into a slight smile. Not a grin or a smirk, a real smile like he used to do when we were kids. I haven't seen him smile like that for the best part of five years.

He exhaled a puff of smoke and chuckled, "Pretty fucked up, man." He reached down for the glass of water that I left on the floor last night and took a generous swig of it. Curly finished his cigarette and lay back down in bed, I did the same.

"Hey Curly?" I asked.

"Yeah, kid."

"Have you ever thought about it?"

"Thought about what?" He shifted slightly.

"You know, killing yourself." I flipped onto my back and sighed heavily.

"Have you?" He asked.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't know."

Curly got up from his bed and walked the small distance over to mine, where he pushed my legs out of the way and sat upright on the end of my bed. I sat up and he lit up yet another cigarette, he smokes like a chimney.

"Now you listen to me, Nate." – "If I ever, ever find out that you've even thought about topping yourself, I'll kill you myself. Are we clear?" His voice had a dangerous tone to it which left no room for an argument. I don't doubt for a second that he would in fact slaughter me. I nodded.

"So tell me now you've woken me up at this fucking hour, what's going through that weird head of yours?" I knew he wanted to get some sort of information out of me, and that he would.

"I don't know, I kinda feel bad for that Frankie kid."- "I wish I could have at least said goodbye, you know? I didn't even know there was a goodbye that needed to be said." I trailed, Curly nodded indirectly urging me to continue.

"I mean, some days I feel everything at once and others I feel nothing at all. It's kinda weird." I continued.

"I get it too. Wanna know what I think?" I nodded eagerly.

"You." He said, "are a terribly real person in a terribly fake world, and that, I think, is why you are in so much pain all the time." He concluded. That was fucking smart. I looked at him surprisingly and he rolled his eyes.

"Don't look at me like that you dick, I'm real smart y'know." He winked and I laughed.

"We've got a lot in common, Curly." I smiled.

"What, depression and self loathing? You've got that right, kiddo." He laughed and stood up but not before turning to me with a serious look on his face.

"Don't kill yourself, okay?" He pleaded, his voice kinda cracked.

"I won't, I won't.

xxx

"Hey Grease, what the fuck is wrong with your hair?"

"Mine? I did it for a bet, what's your excuse?" I shouted back to the tall Soc who was walking towards me with his little crew.

"Cheeky little shit." He shook his head and chuckled. –"The barbers shop is that way, pal."

"Oh fuck off, at least I don't look like I've just came back from a fuckin' funeral." I taunted.

"Is that coming from the poster child for abortions?" He laughed, causing an eruption of laughter.

"Jesus, who pissed in your cheerio's?" – "I've been called worse by better, mate."

Suddenly he came barreling into me and it was a blur from there on.

I raise my right fist, readying myself for a punch. As I wind back my arm, I let the stinging pain from the cut above my eye and the blood in my mouth transform into anger. The anger that courses through me infuses my arm with strength. I shove my arm forward into his jaw. I hear a crack and he collapses as I feel my knuckles whine in protest from the impact. My heart is beating hard in my chest as I look down at him. Blood spills from his mouth but he spits it out and starts to stand up. Then I see pure fury, hatred, and pain in his eyes. The right one is already somewhat closed because of my first hit. I see him wind his arm back for a hit through the red haze that is my eyesight. Before he lands his fist upon my face, I raise my left leg and kick him in the crotch. It was a low hit, but it takes him to his knees. I then shove my elbow down on the base of his neck and he collapses.

A hard hit to the back of the head is what causes me to fade into complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Nate had seen better days that was for sure. His nose was bent, his eyes bore old bruises and he had forgotten how to smile. He lay flat on his back limbs stretched and stared up with a pained gaze at the block of flats. The tall building seemed to sway but he knew that must be an illusion. Buildings didn't move.

Its disgusting really. Hypothetically, if I were a Soc right now, lying on the floor covered in blood there would be fucking uproar. They'd take it through the courts and get one of us charged for something we didn't do. I don't know how they justify themselves, I really don't.

People often wonder what it's like to get properly beaten up, I have enough experience of getting my ass handed to me to last a lifetime. And if you don't know what it's like then I hope you never have to. It's a bit like being in a car crash. The adrenalin, and the force of the hits, is like flying through the air. You feel like you can't control your limbs, and sometimes even like you are looking down on your own body, but with each fresh strike, you come back to the body with the pain. The adrenalin can make you feel acutely conscious of your own body, each punch or kick, you feel like you can sense each individual cell and blood vessel bruising or bursting, each nerve ending blasting out electric shocks and chemical responses. You can hear and feel your heart beating in your ears, and your vision becomes tunneled. You see the face or the masked face of your attacker as though you're viewing it through a telescope, and you also notice other sensations that you haven't experienced before. Maybe you see or smell the sidewalk close up, the sour smell of the pigeon droppings, the unevenness or the beauty of the stones in the asphalt.

So I lay there, on the cold pavement as people stepped over me and huffed in disgust. The Soc used my spine as a keyboard and banged out an entire symphony, it hurt like a bitch. But my torso was nothing compared to the agonizing pain in the back of my head from when he hit me with a chain, fuck. Have you ever seen the old pictures of the men working on the railway? They have big hammers to get the railroad spikes into the tires. It feels like one of them gigantic spikes is being slowly hammered into my fucking brain. I couldn't breathe, I didn't really want to anymore.

I felt like I was high, I could have stared at the mid evening sky for hours and hours but of course, all good things must come to an end. I didn't even notice the person standing over me and I certainly didn't notice the fact that there were two of them. Actually, I didn't know if there were two of them. I was so out of it. A light slap to the face brought me back into reality, It was then that I recognized Tim standing over me and Curly stood looking worried behind him. I smiled and tried to move which was a huge fucking mistake. Blinding pain erupted from all over my body.

All of a sudden I felt an intense piercing pain shooting up my neck, The world seems in hyper drive as adrenaline pulsates through my veins with loud booms, every sound is magnified to a countless number. I couldn't breathe, my vision clouding.. There are coloured shapes flashing above my face as my brothers stare at me with almost scared eyes, however, not a speck of love passes those cold grey eyes, I almost see the concern radiating off Tim's skin. The pain is making me gasp and stagger for breaths I cannot catch. Irons are scalding my neck, pulsating across my body in waves of intense agony. Crimson liquids start to flood my lungs and I start to choke, time slows down to a snail's pace as I gasp for the words that never came.

"Nate?! Nate!" – "Oh my fucking God!" Was the last thing I heard before I fell into the darkness again.

Xxx

(Curly p.o.v)

The waiting room was cold, and Curly could vaguely hear the pitter patter of rain that was coming down onto the hospital roof in a melodic style; it was almost soothing. He hated coming here, and yet this was his second trip in just two weeks. Nate was - let's just say not doing well. It isn't easy being alone in a hospital waiting room at 2am when your sixteenth birthday is a few days prior. Many would compare the feeling in his stomach with 'butterflies'; however the only thing this sensation could be compared to would be vampire bats slowly gnawing away at his stomach.

I could hear the obnoxious ticking of the clock, and the intimidating machinery surrounding me. Wires hung from rusty, cold rods as the machine's lights flickered off and on with the turn of a knob. The plain white walls seemed to close in on me. These walls told stories of broken hearts and wished upon dreams that were never to be seen again. The chair drew my attention as its worn cushion exposed itself from underneath its dull blue top. As my eyes began to focus clearer, and get used to the stark hospital strip lights, I found one imperfection, a small chip in paint on the ceiling above the stiff, scratchy hospital bed. As I looked to my right, I saw doctors pacing back and forth but seemingly running in slow motion. The staff walked around lifeless and un-human like. I saw pained expressions on the faces of visitors waiting impatiently in lounge for any kind of news.

I was in the right mind to stand up and smash that fucking clock to pieces. Midnight has long passed and I still could not sleep, not now. The consecutive beeping of the heart monitor was in junction with the clock on the wall. The fucking heart monitor that was hooked up to my 115 pound younger brother who should be doing whatever normal 14 year olds do now a days.

This life, man. I placed a hand on Nate's bruised forehead and pushed back a fallen tuff of hair; "Hey, Nate…hey buddy…" I said in a pained whisper "You've gotta be strong for me, yeah?...I know…" I gulped "I know you hate this life, I know you do… but I promise you that if you pull through this we'll pack our stuff up and leave, okay?" I felt a warm tear make its way down my cheek, followed by a few more. "I don't know where we'll go, but we'll go." – "Tim wont come..." My voice cracked slightly at the tears now dripping onto the white bed sheets. "Goddammit! He isn't even here! He hasn't even called to see how you are!" I stood up and shouted at the window. "To Hell with him!" before falling back into the horrible chair and crying into my hands that were dried with blood.

Xxx

On the 25th of July at 4:17am a pair of steel blue-grey eyes opened and the entire world took a silent sigh of relief.

I become aware of sounds first. an annoying beeping, the murmur of voices. then I can smell the room around me, aesthetic, and despair, and something I can't put my finger on. I feel sore, all over my body. everything hurts. if it hurts so much when I'm just laying here, then its going to be terrible when I'm forced to move. my eyes slowly slid open, to a dim light above me, but even turned down low, its blinding, I squint for a second, cringing.  
my eyes adjust and they dart around the room. the walls are painted a sterile white. on the wall facing the bed is a bulletin bored, covered with no pictures or cards or drawings. Along the wall is a counter and cupboards above it, there's colourful paintings lining almost every inch of the counter, bright, happy colours that just don't seem to fit the mood in the room, even though I'm not exactly sure what the mood is. I don't understand where I am. I keep looking for some indication, but I can't find any.  
I look down at my body -covered in plaster casts, scared and bruised- slowly, and I get it.  
I'm in a hospital.

The scene quickly ruses back to my head, the metal chain hitting me repeatedly, the venomous words spat and the fists pounding off my body as if his muscles weren't trying to hold him back. Man, that Soc got me good. If he were here now I'd probably shake his hand and give him a pat on the back.

What the fuck am I saying? It must be the drugs.

A movement from beside my bed is what makes me realize that someone else is in the room, his head is resting in his hands on his lap. I can tell by the messy short hair that the guy in front of me is Curly, he's fast asleep. I chuckle at the thought of him waking up and complaining of a bad neck but fall into a minor coughing fit. Curly's head shoots up from its former place and he rushes over to the bed, his eyes mask a mixture of concern and genuine happiness.

The coughing fit fades out and I slump back into my many pillows, Curly continued to stare at me wide eyed. "You okay, Curls?" I asked. By the way he was looking now, he needed to make a trip down to the psychiatric ward. His face smoothed out and he started pacing the small room.

"Am I okay? Am I fucking okay?" – "You're lay half beaten to death in a hospital bed and you're asking if I'm okay?" He seemed stressed, more stressed than a sixteen year old should ever even dream of being. I must admit that I felt bad, I was the reason he was so stressed and sad.

"Woah, woah sorry for asking man," I sarcastically remarked. Curly sighed before pulling the chair closer to the bed and leaning as forward as possible in it without falling flat on his face.

"How're you feeling, kid?"

"I'm okay."

"You're okay?" He seemed unconvinced

"Yeah, I'm a bit sore but I'll live." I smiled reassuringly and I saw him physically deflate with relief.

"That's good, man." – "But there's something you need to know about," Oh god, oh god, oh god. These type of situations never end well. I nodded for him to continue

"So, Tim called earlier…"

"What'd he say?" I asked, whilst my anxiety had officially hit the roof.

"He's got himself into a drive by shooting with the Brumly boys, its happening tomorrow night."

"What an idiot, man."

"He's making me go with him, Nate." He bowed his head and I felt like crying. People fucking die in these things! Either that or they get sent down for so long they never see sunlight again.

"You're not going, are you?" I pleaded, my voice cracked.

"Nath…"

"Curly, please!" I raised my voice slightly but felt a tear make its way down my cheek and curve into my jaw line.

"Nate, please just try and underst-" He started before I felt a sharp pain in my ribs and faded into darkness once again.

_He wasn't going to do this, not alone. Even if my own life has to pay the price for it._

* * *

**Reviews are highly appreciated guys, please. **

**And a few of you have been asking; Yes I am still continuing The youngest Shepard but I've just got writers block with that story right now haha, I hope to get the new chapter out in the next week for sure! **


	4. Chapter 4

By then, his coffee had gone stone cold, but Tim drank it anyway as a kind of punishment. It was the least he deserved. The very least.

He drained the cup and slammed it down hard on the table, hard enough it should have shattered. It didn't shatter, though, didn't even crack. So he slammed it down again and this time it did shatter. It made a noise like a gunshot.

No. Not like a gunshot. Not like a gunshot at all.

Tim knew what a gunshot sounded like and a shattering coffee cup didn't even come close. A shattering coffee cup sounded like... well, it sounded like a shattering coffee cup. A gun shot: now that was something else. A gunshot, up close, sounded like God cracking His knuckles in readiness for the mother of all fist fights.

What kind of person leaves their littlest kid brother in hospital to go get ridiculously drunk? He didn't even know why he got drunk, to numb the pain? Or to feel something for once? Tim wasn't completely sure.

Couple of broken ribs, a broken wrist and a fractured collar bone is what he came out with. I've gotta hand it to the kid, he's a tough cookie. Angela didn't know, everyone was reluctant to tell her; avoiding the subject if possible. She would flip, when she left she specifically 'told' us to keep Nate out of trouble; we ended up doing the exact opposite.

One shot of whiskey, two shots, three shots, four…not enough.

"I'll need two more, Buck."

Xxx

Right now my blood must have been about 60% coffee. The bags under my eyes looked like bruises and I felt like I had been dragged through Hell backwards, twice. The doctors said Nate could come home in a few hours after they've put a proper cast on his wrist, I was so fucking glad. For him or me, I don't know but something inside of me would not let me leave this hospital for three fucking days. I didn't think I loved the stupid kid that much.

Nate was sat on the hospital bed in some thick grey tracksuit bottoms and a white t-shirt, awaiting the nurse to come back and put the cast on his wrist and get him set up with a sling. As soon as that was done, he was free to get the fuck out of this place.

"You look like shit, Curly." Nate started, as rude as it sounds its true. His face looked exhausted and his body movements were more than a little lethargic. Any slapped ass monkey with a pair of working eyes could see that he was more stressed than anyone should ever be.

"Thanks man. Believe it or not, we didn't all get to slumber it out in a nice comfy bed for three whole days." Curly lifted his head and glared at his little brother.

"Dude, all I'm saying is that you didn't need to stay here for three whole days. Tim didn't have much of a problem with that, aye?" He sadly joked, then his smile dropped and he began to swing his feet slightly.

Curly sighed and rubbed his temples, luckily the nurse came in with the plaster; ultimately grinding the conversation to a halt. She was a nice lady, late 40's maybe? Short cut red hair with a reassuring smile that lit up her face. The kind of woman you'd expect to work in a bakery or something like that.

"Nathan, is it?" She smiled.

"Nate." I corrected, she nodded and began to straighten my arm out and unwrap the previous bandages that had been placed to offer support temporarily. She began to wash down my wrist with warm soapy water before gently drying and wrapping a bandage around the wrist. She then started wrapping a blue plaster cast around it and then we were done. This cast was gonna be a pain in the ass, it was my right arm as well.

"Well, there you go Nate." – "Try and stray away from direct water contact, come back in five weeks to get it removed and stay out of trouble!" She warned before smiling and walking out of the room.

"Lets get you going, kiddo." Curly stood up and helped me off the bed, not moving his arm until I was stable. I had to fucking walk home with Curly in the hospital clothes, luckily it isn't much of a walk.

"Curly?" I asked, not looking at him but watching the cars pass by. We had stopped outside a liquor store where Curly had gotten someone to go in and get served to alcohol for us, we did deserve it after the past few days. Him and I were sat on the curb of the road looking rather miserable.

"Yeah?" He replied, kicking an empty can into the even emptier road.

"What are we gonna do?" I sighed.

"You and me? _We're_ not doing anything." – "This is my problem, I don't want you getting hurt in the downfall." Confessed Curly, it was quite loving for our family.

"You can't expect me to do nothing,"

"I can, and nothing is exactly what you will do, kid." He looked back to the shop and gave an impatient grunt.

"Where's Tim?" I asked; I already knew the answer. He would be drinking, fucking some random girl or in trouble with the police. I could have guessed that he wouldn't even care enough to come see me.

"I dunno, kid. I really don't know." Curly shook his head at the ground and gave a sad sigh. I debated patting him on the back but decided I probably shouldn't. The guy walked out of the shop and threw the bottle of vodka at Curly, mumbled something and staggered off into the alleyway.

"Goddamn drunk!" Shouted Curly after the man, we both laughed for the first time in a while. He cracked open the bottle and took a long swig of the bitter liquid, he took another shorter sip and shoved the bottle into my hand that isn't broken.

"I don't like vod-" I began before Curly glared at me.

"Just suck it up and drink it, it'll make us forget about everything for now anyway." He grinned and lightly nudged me. I smirked at him and took a huge gulp of vodka before passing it back to him. The bottle went back and forth for the next hour or so until it ran dry. Somehow we ended up in The Lot, lying on our backs side by side and staring at the cloudless night sky.

"You asleep, little guy?" Curly slurred, twisting his head to face me.

"Nah." I replied, meeting his eyes and smiling.

"I'm so tired." He sighed, finding a more comfortable position to lie in. My broken ribs and fractured collarbone made it a little harder for me.

"Go to sleep then," I said, but I knew what he meant.

"I'm so fucking tired of this life, man." He seemed sadder than usual, and that's pretty sad.

"Me too,"

"I wish it wasn't like this." – "Man, its not fucking fair."

"I know, Curly." I was getting physically tired now too. I wanted to get up but I was so damn comfortable on the floor.

"Hah, get this. When you were out of it they tried to offer me therapy, apparently I looked depressed and withdrawn, whatever the fuck that means." He laughed.

"Man, there ain't enough therapy in the world to sort us out." I joked, but it was probably true. Bad day? Bad week. Bad week? Bad month. Bad month? Bad life. That's what therapy would be like for me. Curly laughed and put his hands behind his head.

"Did you really stay there for three days, Curly?" I asked, I couldn't really believe it myself. I mean, he looked fucked out completely but he was still functioning.

"Yes."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?" He repeated the question in a sarcastic tone and sat up from his former position.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because you're my little brother, that's why." He confessed. I hummed and crossed my legs at the ankles.

"I mean, who else could I get to smart mouth me out of a fight?" He winked and stood up but swayed slightly, he offered a hand to help me up eventhough he was struggling to keep himself standing. I rose to my feet and felt the full effect of the alcohol, I damn well almost fell into the stinging nettles.

"I say we head on home, you little alcoholic." Curly joked and ruffled my hair.

Xxx

I woke up fully dressed, lay on top of my bed with no memory of how I got there, only the dull throb of last nights alcohol. I rubbed my eyes and began to focus on the sound coming from the living room. Tim and Curly were arguing, I head the sound of shattering glass and figured Tim had finally lost his shit. I cautiously walked into the front room to see Tim casually sat on the sofa with his feet up and Curly angrily pacing the room.

"Uh…" I started to get their attention, they automatically stopped arguing and turned to face me.

"Rise and shine," Tim started happily but somehow sarcastically, Curly looked at me sympathetically. I strolled over to the sofa and sat down, them two continued their argument but seemed less outspoken now.

"You can't boss me around like a fuckin' ten year old, Tim!" Curly shouted, kicking the wooden chair across the room.

"Then stop fuckin' acting like one! Just swallow ya' fuckin' pride and do it!" Tim looked angry, but I'd seen him angrier. That's a good sign.

"Oh fuck you, Tim. Fuck you!" And with that, Curly stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him. Tim snickered and bumped his shoulder with mine.

"How you doin', kid?" He asked but didn't seem t really care.

"Sore. I'll live." I replied bluntly, if he wants to act like he doesn't care then so will I.

"Good." He flicked through the channels on the tv and cringed when he came to the fishing channel.

"Where were you, Tim?" I asked desperately, I just needed to know. He doesn't care about me? Awesome. But I'd rather him just straight out say that he didn't give two shits than sit there and make up another bullshit excuse. I'm so sick of bullshit excuses.

"I'm a busy man, kiddo. It ain't like you were on deaths doorstep." He answered coldly.

"Oh, and you'd care then would you?" I mumbled spitefully.

"Excuse me?"

"Would you even care if I died, Tim?" I was being dramatic but it was fair.

"Of course I would." He looked me dead in the eye with no expression on his face, it was quite frightening.

"Mhm, yeah." I replied putting my feet up on the coffee table next to his.

_I think I need a cup of coffee or about twenty painkillers._


	5. Chapter 5

I didn't realise I was so close to the railway track until I heard the roar of the engine bearing down on where I stood crouched. The two parallel steel rails rattled beneath my feet as I took the dangerous short cut over the tracks to get to Brent's house, It was a dick move, I know. But in appose to the twenty five minute walk, a five minute walk and dodging a train is a little easier, for me anyway.

From the tracks you can see Brent's house, the bricks are a pale brown colour, they might have been white some time ago; who knows. The house itself isn't in great condition, but its better than where I'm staying at the moment. Aside from the poor looks, the house is welcoming; with the door usually open and one light always on in one of the front rooms, it can really make a place feel like home; even if you don't live there.

Train tracks completed, I crossed over the grass trying to avoid all stinging nettles; cursing when one sprung out of nowhere and hit me right in the face. I must have looked a complete mess, stumbling around and swearing in the middle of a bush. After kicking my way through a bush I made it to Brent's house, I've heard that in the Curtis gang; the oldest one. Darry, is it? Lets his gang just stroll in whenever it suits them, Brent's house is I've heard that in the Curtis gang; the oldest one. Darry, is it? Lets his gang just stroll in whenever it suits them, Brent's house is like that. Only, we're not a gang and Brent isn't over 6ft.

The front door was open as usual and I strolled in as I usually do. Schools out for summer, so I have six weeks to do whatever I want. Not that I don't anyway. My grades at school leave a little to be desired, It's not like I'm stupid. I don't think so , anyway. The only subject I really do well in is English, something just clicks with me and that subject. But then again, don't even get me started on maths. I got an F on my final, not that I really care. I'm destined to either have a crappy job with crappy pay, or to be six foot under by the time I'm twenty five. I'm not sure which one I'd prefer.

The wall paper in the hallway was ripped and damp from god knows what, the floorboards were scratched but the old family photo still remained on the wall. Brent looked about six or seven in this photo, Peter looked fifteen-ish and even Rusty, their dog was still a puppy. Judging by the look of them, it must have been about a year before Peter-Jae killed himself. I looked away from the photo to meet the expressionless green eyes of Brent, I gasped and stumbled backwards. Brent chuckled but then looked at the photo and his smile fell, he sighed and ran his hand through his dark brown greased hair.

"Man, that photo sure was a long time ago," He admitted in his slightly husky voice, bending down to tie the laces on his black converses that really didn't need re-tying but he did it anyway.

"Yeah," I replied coolly. Brent stood up and walked into his living room, signalling for me to follow.

"I'm so fucking bored , dude." Brent declared loudly, throwing himself on the sofa and sighing dramatically. I perched on the edge of the sofa that he was sprawled over, one foot on the floor and another crossed under me. In appose to other days, Brent looked pretty rough. He was wearing black skinny jeans, black converses and a white round necked shirt. His hair was uneven and he seemed awfully tired.

"You're not the only one," I replied solemnly, Brent slowly sat up into a sitting position and looked down at his shoes again.

"How about this, _short stuff_," He teased. "You and me, a litre of whiskey and some time for you to wallow in despair about your poor broken arm." He winked at me and I lightly punched him in the shoulder.

"It's my wrist that's broken, dipshit." I wisecracked, Brent sarcastically pulled a face at me before narrowing his eyes at me.

"If you didn't look like a lost puppy, I'd beat you seven shades of purple," Laughed Brent. He flicked on the falling apart TV that his brother dragged back from the rubbish yard when he was younger. Tom and Jerry came on the TV, satisfied for now Brent threw himself back onto the sofa. "Who even fucked you up that bad?" He asked with intent eyes, I shrugged and tried to carry on watching the cartoon but Brent was having none of it. "C'mon man, who did it?" He pressed further.

"I dunno, a bunch of fuckn' Soc's." I merely shrugged, it was no big deal really. My main worry was the shooting that's happening tonight. I mean, people die in these things. Innocent fucking people die, I don't want my brothers in prison for the rest of their lives, and I certainly don't want them dead. I must have been lost in my thoughts because when I came back to reality, Brent was clicking his fingers in front of my face and saying, "Helloooo?".

"Sorry," I said, he looked at me strangely and raised his eyebrows.

"What are you going all emo about?" He mocked, I rolled my eyes and pulled a cigarette out of my pocket. Brent held his hand out for one and lit his off mine.

I blew out a large puff of smoke and lay back on the arm of the sofa. "There's a drive by shooting goin' on tonight," I told him, stroking Rusty as he trotted along beside me. The German Shepard, husky cross was getting on a little now, he still had a spark in him though.

"Yeah? Who with?" He drawled, seeming uninterested. He gets bored easily and he's not a very deep person. He's street smart but if you try and talk to him about anything seriously, he'll just block you out.

"The Brumly boys and my brother," I grumbled, he pulled a face as if to say; "What the fuck?" Everyone knows that the Shepard Gang avoids the Brumly outfit at all costs. Brumly's leader, Kurt Flint. From what I've seen and heard of him, is about level par with Tim and I honestly don't know who would win out of a fist fight between them both. Kurt and Tim have a whole lot of history together. No, literally. They had history class together in senior year.

"Fuckin' good luck to him, I presume Curlys tagging along?" He intoned. Curly and Brent are buddies, sometimes. By that, they've got insanely drunk a few times and carried eachother home.

"I guess so," I countered, grinding the cigarette into the ashtray on the coffee table. Brent gave me a worried look as he flicked his cigarette into the ashtray too. He must have sensed the conversation getting a little dull and immediately spoke up.

"You know who I really hate? My cousin Sawyer." He rambled, I rolled my eyes and prepared myself for the hour long rant about his cousin. "He's such a self absorbed idiot, all he thinks about is himself. I asked him to pass me the ketchup and he…" I stopped listening to him at this point, giving the occasional nod and 'Yeah' whenever it was needed.

Xxx

The car was more than hot, it was a fucking sauna. I was sure I'd be cooked alive before we even pulled out of the drive way. I couldn't get out of this one, no matter how hard I tried. I tried begging and pleading but I just got laughed at and punched in the face by Cobie. I didn't want to be in this, I didn't want to end up killing some innocent kid. I'm a no good do nothing hood but I have morals. Something I liked to believe that Tim had, now I'm not so sure.

Tim, Kurt, Cobie, Cain and Spencer all pilled into the car one by one. I had no idea who three of them were. The clock on the dash read 9:32pm, it was scheduled to happen at half past. I was about to say something when I noticed Tim looking at me through the mirror I quickly retreated as far into the leather seat as I could. A thud on my upper arm pulled me away from staring out of the window, "Man, how old are you? Twelve?" The black guy sat next to me asked, I think his name was Cain. He was big built, must have been about 6'5 and he was pretty damn frightening.

"I'm sixteen." I snapped, a little too violently. The guy paused completely and raised his eyebrows at me, before chuckling to himself.

"Tim, who pissed off your little slave today?" He indirectly patronized me, fuck him. Tim turned back and laughed at the guy. Thanks a lot, brother. Tim pulled the car out of the driveway and everyone got themselves into gear, except me. Honestly I didn't understand why I was even there, I wasn't gonna be shooting or anythin' like that. I think I was just there so if something went wrong, they could blame someone. I should be used to being that person by now, really.

Xxx

Brent and Nate were sat on the curb of the road, taking the first few sips of whiskey when they heard the first gunshot. Nate's face went white and Brent dropped the bottle of spirits onto the floor where it smashed within seconds of it falling from his hands.

"Holy shit, Nate. Holy shit!" Brent shouted over the continuous gunshots. Suddenly, A second car came speeding around the corner shooting not only at Tim and Curly's car, but at us too. It was almost happening in slow motion, kinda like a dream. Man, I wish it was a dream. Brent grabbed me by my collar and threw me behind the trash cans. He looked back at me with scared eyes before pulling a pistol from the waistband of his jeans and shooting in the direction of the car.

I screamed his name as the bulled glided through the air, missing the car but hitting someone who was cowered behind it point blank in the head. Frankie.

Brent threw the pistol to the ground and fell to his knees. The air went silent and everyone stilled in their cars. I rose from the floor and stared, mouth agape at the scene that had unfolded in front of me. Both cars fled immediately. I half collapsed to the floor next to Brent to see that he was sobbing onto his elbow, murmuring the word "No, no no." over and over again.

_I honestly didn't think you could break Brent Austin until I saw him break under the burden of murder._

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**Reviews are always nice x**


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